Page 124 of Unholy Union
“Christ,” Papi snaps, his face twisting in disgust. “Mario. Clean that up. Now.”
Mario lets out a theatrical sigh, then plods over to the far wall and grabs an old mop leaning against it, the wood splintered and the bristles stiff with time. He drags it back and forth across the floor a couple times until the mess is absorbed into the fibers.
“Sabrina,” Papi says. “Look at me.”
But I can’t bring myself to. I don’t ever want to look at him again.
I’m so disturbed, I just want to run off and forget this ever happened.
I squeeze my eyes shut because I can’t bear the sight of him anymore. I can’t look at the man who raised me, who kissed my forehead at bedtime, who told me once that I was his light, and now speaks of my death like it’s a tactical maneuver in his mafia war.
My chest tightens until it feels like what’s left of my already fractured heart is shattering.
And it hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt before. Even worse than losing Leo, worse than losing Mami.
Because this time I haven’t lost someone to circumstances beyond their control; this time I’ve lost someone because they’vechosenglory and victory over me.
My father loves the idea of defeating his lifelong nemesis more than he loves his own daughter—and he’s willing to sacrifice her if it means he finally wins once and for all.
Tears slide down my cheeks as I fight hard not to cry, but they come anyway.
I bow my head, a sob racking its way out of me.
A moment passes where Papi stands over me and watches as I cry, offering no real consolation or comfort. He regards me like I’m some science experiment he’s studying in a laboratorybefore finally heaving a sigh. He pulls off his glasses and uses the pocket square tucked into his lapel to wipe the lens clean.
“How much time do we have?” he asks Mario coolly, like we’re on a strict itinerary.
Mario checks his watch. “Twenty-six minutes.”
Papi nods, sliding his glasses back onto his face. “Then I suppose I have time to tell you the truth, Sabrina. You deserve that much. You’re my daughter. I love you.”
A bitter laugh sputters out of me, mixed in with my sobs. The words sound so grotesquely out of place, so absurd after what’s taken place that I can’t help it.
But either Papi doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care. He plunges on like I haven’t made a peep.
“I married you to Cato because it was the only way to win,” he explains. “I have known Augusto Valente my whole life. And I knew he would never truly accept you. He’s too proud and suspicious. I also knew his son Cato... he’d fall for you. Eventually. A woman like you? A man like him finds you irresistible. All I had to do was put you in front of him and he would fall like most men would.
“But more importantly, I knew you would cause friction between them. That your presence would be the match that lit the fire. That Cato’s love for you, when it came, would cloud his judgment. And that Augusto—cruel, old bastard that he is—would never tolerate it. It’s rare, almost impossible, to turn a father and son against each other. But give the son something to protect... a woman he loves? A woman he’d kill for?” He smiles faintly. “That’s how you fracture a dynasty and get them to pick each other off. That’s how Iwin.”
“Stop,” I whisper hoarsely. “Please stop.”
But he doesn’t. He carries on, ignoring my protests.
“I told the Valentes you were sweet and innocent,” he says, as if recalling a fond joke. “I sold you as obedient and docile.But I knew that was a lie. You think as your father I don’t know your true nature, princess? That if I put some cyanide in that rosary Nella gave you, you wouldn’t try to use it? Or if I sent Matteo to tagalong at that nightclub you wouldn’t try to dance with him to act out and make Cato mad? Those paps that showed up and snapped photos? The Valentes aren’t the only ones in the business of media sabotage, princess.
“And then there’s the fact that I knew the more I put you in danger, the more protective Cato would become. The more it would enrage Augusto. The deeper the divide would become between them. The closer you and Cato would get, because both of you—you’re like teenagers, fighting one second and falling in love the next. It was fascinating to watch, princess. But most of all? I knew how stubborn and rebellious you are. Just like Mariella. You really are your mother’s daughter.”
For the first time in my life, my father speaks of Mami with a bitter undercurrent. He sounds resentful as he mentions her, starting to pace in front of me. His round features shift almost into a scowl.
It’s something I’ve never seen before when she’s come up.
Contempt.
It’s jarring enough that it stops my sob at once. I blink through my bleary, watery vision as another chilling shiver works its way down my spine.
The epiphany slams into me so hard, I can’t even react. It’s the kind of uprooting realization that rocks my very foundation.
My entire life has been a lie.
